One of my friends and an amazingly helpful former colleague has inspired me to start writing again. He said that I inspired him to create a blog and he finally has and I've found his writing so good! Check him out at Wandering Mind at https://spreekeys.blogspot.com/.
It has been 8 years since I moved back to the US after 23
years (25 if you count the number of years I spent working remote in the DC
area). I used to ask friends that had
moved from Kuwait after living there for years/decades how they felt. The answers from all were pretty much the
same:
- “It took me a while to get used to it.”
- “I’m still not used to it.”
- “It was the hardest in the beginning.”
- “I miss not paying income taxes and having free
healthcare.”
- “OMG the best thing I ever did. …But I miss the (food, people, socializing,
my maid… etc.)”
NOTE: I haven't written about my professional/job experience in Kuwait in this post. It is about feelings and personal perspective. I think I'll dedicate another post to my last job there and all the wonderful people I worked with and for.
I always considered Kuwait my second home and I assimilated as
soon as I arrived in 1996. I didn’t have
American friends in Kuwait. My friends
were many and all Kuwaiti. (Some new but many I had known for decades from when they were students or working at the Embassy of Kuwait in DC.) I had a goat
farm in Hijen and I learned to speak Arabic with a Kuwaiti dialect. I cook Kuwaiti meals. Etc. They gave me a Bedoin name (my nickname was "Um Mutlaq" and the formal name was/is, "Monira Shammari"). I spent my time at our Hijen farm or desert camp. It was a great adventure
In 1996, I knew of only 2 other American women working in
business. I’m sure there were teachers,
but I didn’t know of any at the time.
And all the other American women that I met at that time were either married
to Kuwaitis and wearing hijab and everything out of their mouths were nouveau-Muslim pleasantries like, “Mawshawwwlaaar” and “Beesmeeelaaaw.” (said with a
weird kind of American southern accent).
I take British women out of the equation because early on, I didn’t know
any. I met more later and their pronunciation
of Arabic terms was a lot classier. Or
at least the British accent made it seem that way to me.
Anyways, I spent most of my years in Kuwait exploring and going
places that my conservative city friends (Hathar girls) thought were outrageous; like Jahra
(early 90’s): “Do you want to be RAPED?!” Or the scrap yard or mechanics shops. I had 2 years of auto mechanics and could do
small jobs myself and loved working on cars. The last time I touched an engine
was in Kuwait and when I was done poking around, I looked up to see 4 men
across the street, smoking fervently and staring at me like I was an aberration. I felt creepy and wanted to shower – and not
from the engine grunge. I didn’t realize
that a woman working on a car in 1996 Kuwait was on par with a porno. Gross. (Oh and I had shipped my sports car to
Kuwait with me, so I guess that made it even sexier. Ew.)
Sidenote: a Kuwaiti colleague once told me that I
should sell my sports car or I would never get married. LOL. I love sports cars. Don’t care, but I still remember him saying
that.
My male Kuwaiti friends were up for my adventurous spirit
and would take me wherever I wanted to go.
Tea with the yard keepers at the scrap yard? Cool!
We’re on. Boating out to island
where the little fish surrounded you at twilight. The place North of Kabd where they train the
falcons in the Spring. Mutlaa Ridge (always!). Failaka to explore abandoned dwellings. Wafra to go to the veggie market. Hunting for dhub in Zor and Abdali. Gerbil hunting in Salmi. (Never kill anything, but finding.) Talking
to the old Bedouin niqab sellers at the Friday Market who thought the man with
me was my husband and said a prayer for me to wear it in good health. I think that my male friends really enjoyed seeing their country through my eyes.
Living in Kuwait was a constant learning experience. And in the early days (90’s) it was so
different and unusual. By the time the
2000’s rolled around, there were thousands more Americans in Kuwait and
everything was changing. Not because of
them necessarily, but indeed, I was no longer a novelty. Lots more adventurous blondes in Kuwait. Lots
of changes to society in general also.
For example, in the 90’s when I moved to Kuwait, restaurants
were still segregated. Families sat on
one side and single men on the other.
The games were fabulous! It was
so much fun. I had a friend who would
invite me to go with him and 4 of his friends every weekend to different
restaurants. I figured it out on about
the second time, I think. They were
using me so they could sit on the families side and get girls’ numbers. They didn’t think I had a clue. I didn’t mind because I got to go out and eat
with friends and I was happy. But as the
months wore on, Salah and his friends ignored
me more and more in conversation and I got bored. So, the final straw came one night when we
went out. I locked eyes with a cute guy at another
table. He told me, through gestures
(part of the game), to go to the bathroom so he could give me his number. I shook my head, “no.” But I gestured for him
to drop it in my open purse behind my chair.
He did. Not that my real intent
was to call him (I don’t think I did?) I got into the car with Salah and
friends and made my announcement. ‘You
guys think you’re so smart. I know what
you’ve been doing by just using me so you can meet girls. Well, I can play that game too!’ and I took
out the number and showed them. Shock
and awe! “How did you do that?! You never left the table!” Followed by, “We are MEN! How dare you disrespect us!” LMAO.
Ok gas lighters. Gotcha.
For those who are too young to remember, there used to be an
unwritten dating code. You couldn’t just
walk up to someone and exchange numbers.
Scandalous! So, sneaking around
was the norm. Men would follow you in
cars – which was actually ok - if you knew, you knew. Not stalkery back then. There were signals a
woman could give if she wanted to be pursued.
If she tilted her rearview mirror or make up mirror. If she gave signals with turn indicators
(right for the passenger behind her, left for the driver). For this reason, many women wouldn’t even use
their turn signals back in the day! And
in restaurants, a man staring at you and tugging on his moustache meant he was
into you. Then he would make eye
gestures for you to meet him near the bathroom to exchange numbers. It was fun.
Sometimes a man would walk behind you and quietly ask for your number. I had memorized several different fun numbers
like the police station and the psychiatric hospital to give out.
Not only all of this, but the parties in the 90’s were
amazing. I had so.much.fun. The police would leave everyone alone coming
back from the farms or the chalets. That
is, if we didn’t come back after dawn.
There were usually check points at night and my bestie and I would flirt
with all the officers. Again, fun. There were huge parties and many times you
didn’t find out who was hosting until you arrived or even after you left. I met some really interesting and important
people those days and got to hear their stories. They had been with heads of state and
traveled the world and it was all fascinating to hear about. And to see them in a private setting where
they could be themselves. People tell me
things – especially since I am foreign and many people don’t know that I understand
Arabic so well. (The face doesn’t
reflect the knowledge of things Kuwaiti.) It would never occur to them that I know the
people in their stories. Of course, I
will never reveal secrets. I love Kuwait
and I want to go back. …But the stories!!
I digress while reminiscing about all the good times and what was.
I always thought that I would live in Kuwait forever. Marry some Kuwaiti man and travel back and
forth to see my family. But things don’t
always work out the way you plan. I
changed. I decided I don’t want to be
married to anyone regardless of the continent or background. I’m happy being adventurous or just at peace
with myself. At a certain age, you start
really thinking about time and how much both you and your parents have. You start longing to spend as much time with
them and your family members as you can. And that’s when I decided.
It was time to go back to The Original Home (OH)
Sidenote: You may wonder if I ever went back to OH during all this time. Of course! I usually went back several times a year. More often in the last decade in Kuwait because I worked for a travel company. I went through a lot of airports, but rarely did stopovers because I just wanted to get home. And in Kuwait, there are 1-month annual vacations for all employees, so I had lots of time with my family.
The first year in the US was the hardest. Yes, I was surrounded by beauty all the
time. There were all 4 seasons and you
felt them for months, not just days.
Fires in the fireplace in the Fall and Winter. Going to the beach and
farmers markets in the summer. Looking
out the window and filling my eyes with greenery and the beauty of nature. But, I missed my Kuwaiti friends and families
there so much. And I had a re-entry-relationship (I was introduced to him by
close Kuwaiti friends) that went badly after a few months of returning to the
US. Three weeks before I was to move
into my new house with him. I now call
him a transitional relationship. It was
all hard. I had only a few American friends in Kuwait and zero Kuwaiti friends
in Virginia. I couldn’t find good
Lebanese food and finding machboos was impossible (still is, but there is a
good Yemeni restaurant that serves “haneeth” which is close enough). I ordered KDD chocolate milk (the best in the entire world!) and mango juice
from Amazon. I brought LOTS of Kuwaiti spices for cooking incase I couldn't find them in the US. (I really do need to get into my pantry and throw some of that stuff away! I no longer cook for an army.)
For the first 2 years back, I was working remotely for my
job in Kuwait so I traveled back and forth every 6 months. Had I stopped going to Kuwait cold turkey, I
don’t know how I would have managed psychologically. I did get empathy from my
family, friends and colleagues at my new job which I love. The job and my
family were huge in helping me readjust to life in the US. But I was still “Kuwaiti” and probably
strange and distant to them at the time.
8 years later, the only Kuwaiti friend* who has come to visit
me in the US is my former landlord. A
wonderful man who accepted me and Mikey into an apartment in his home. I saw him and his traveling mate for all of 2
hours. I have managed to make friendly
with the Kuwait Ambassador to the US who very kindly invites me every year to
the National Day Celebration where I get to see Kuwaitis and feel part of the group
again. I also get excited when I see any
type of a Kuwait sticker or flag on a car.
People probably think I’m crazy waving at them. (It’s ok.) I have a Kuwaiti Bidoon friend who I met
through a mutual friend. He’s working on
his US citizenship and works all the time.
When we are able to get together, we both feel like we are “at home”
again. (* With the exception of my friend, Fly Girl, who has been stationed in New York.)
For the first time in 6 years, I returned to Kuwait this past December. I loved seeing my friends and doing some of the things I had always done. At the same time, though, it wasn’t the same place. Attitudes had changed. Much of Kuwait has physically changed – infrastructure, etc. I no longer had the anchor of a job or a place to live. It was all pretty unsettling. Four months after I returned from that visit, I sold my last remaining large part of my existence in Kuwait; my car that I had had shipped with my household items. So many memories in that car! It was time. So much time driving to/from the desert and the beaches; most often with my dog by my side. Selling her was hard, but it was rather metaphorical.
The most common question I get asked: "What do you miss most about Kuwait?" There are many things, but first and foremost are the people who adopted me into their families and lives. I miss them every day and most days, we send each other morning greetings through WhatsApp. They were always welcoming and ready to feed me. And the FOOD! I blame Kuwait for my type 2 diabetes. (And thank you, The Romanian, for practically dragging me to a clinic in 2014 to get my bloodwork done after your heart attack. You probably saved my life!) The food: There is always an opportunity for sweets and there are a gazillion sweet shops with a gazillion varieties and designs to assist in those opportunities. Kuwaiti food is anything-with-rice and/or carbs. I miss that. I miss driving to Kabd in the summer for the BEST watermelons EVER sold by a man named Abu Mohammed with very few teeth. Restaurants Street and it's drive-up shawarma or fatayer shops. Fresh fruit juice shops for avocado juice with honey or mango. Going to friend's kennels to train with their dogs and my dog and gossiping (which is a national pass time in Kuwait - full of humor and generally lacking of malice). I miss the Kuwaiti dialect (which is kind of nasal and full of slang unique to Kuwait). Kuwait's unique sense of fashion. Going to the basement souqs to buy little things for the house. Occasionally going to Kuwait's fancy malls (when there was light traffic) to see what was new. Driving down the palm tree lined Gulf Road to work in the morning with the beautiful view. Meeting up with friends at cafes. Nighttime fortune telling with the girls over Turkish coffee; me, doing tarot and other friends tossing shells ("faal" - which is an ancient form of fortune telling similar to runes) or reading coffee cups. Camping (ok really more like glamping) every winter with friends. Waking up in my tent to go out and have breakfast with my friends with no sound but the wind, occasional smell of the desert if there was rain, and if we were lucky, sounds from nearby camels. Swimming in the sea off the islands of Kuwait surrounded by sea creatures and watching the water turn a pinkish color at sunset. Sleeping contently after being on the water all day. Mutla'a! Visits to Mubarakiya for spices or fruit or whatever object I might find. And eating fresh fish from the outdoor Iranian restaurants. Walking through the gold souq. Going north of Kabd to the place in the desert where they train falcons in the Spring (which lasts for about 2-7 days).
The second most asked question: "Which is better: Kuwait or the US?" (Actually, it sounds more like, "Which is better? Kuwait or Amreeeka?") There is no way to compare. They are different places that - like anywhere - have good and bad. "Better" for me is where I am content. Now, it is the US where I own a house with a beautiful garden and land enough so my dogs can run around. I plant a tree every year and name them. My garden is full of pink and white flowers that bloom at different times of the year. I'm visited by foxes and raccoons and deer and squirrels and a variety of birds. I am surrounded by nature and it grounds me and makes me happy. I have a short drive to work every morning and for the most part, no one tries to kill me on the road. I love my neighbors and they seem to feel the same (although culturally, we don't feed each other and there are no sweets involved and that just makes me sad). Better because I'm with my family. I work with family and I feel blessed that I get to see them every day. I love my job. I love the people I work with, Mashallah. I'm blessed that my family also vacations to beautiful places together. I am blessed to reconnect with friends that I have known for decades (and one in particular from Boston whose friendship I had sorely missed). People I grew up with who I share history with. I truely am content. Maaaaawwwwshawwwwler.
I had a Kuwaiti friend tell me something in typical Kuwaiti
humorous fashion: I said, ‘I feel like I
have one leg in Kuwait and the other leg in the US.’ His quick response was, “Oh (long pause)... so your legs are
always open?” [What I have long loved
about Kuwaitis is their sense of humor and their ability to find humor in their
own foibles. (And I hope that their humor isn't getting lost in progress.)] What I meant was that I don't feel like I fit into either culture. Not the one I left, nor the one I've gone to. That is the life of an expat. If you know, you know. I'm sure most international students understand it as well. Your new place changes you and gives you a completely different perspective. It changes you forever. It will
never be the same in either place. YOU will never be the same. It’s
different now. You’re older. You've seen a lot and done a lot. You create a new path for yourself and adjust.
It is a learning experience all over
again.
As Thomas Wolfe (I hate to quote him because my mother dated
him and said he was not a nice man) said, “You can never go home.”
